


a little snow never hurt anybody

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Background Jocelyn Fairchild/Luke Garroway, Banter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Making Out, Moving In Together, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Of all the days for New York to get a freak snowstorm, it just has to be the day that Clary and Simon are supposed to move in together.





	a little snow never hurt anybody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fanetjuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanetjuh/gifts).



> one of the prompts I was given for this exchange was 'anything domestic - moving in together, planning a wedding, decorating the Christmas tree, baking cookies, visiting the parents, marriage proposals, telling the baby bedtime stories, awkward first dates and so on.' I picked a few of those and ran with them, and here we are! enjoy! <3

Clary isn’t surprised when, on the first day of December, she’s woken up by her phone ringing before her alarm actually goes off. 

Without opening her eyes, she reaches out and gropes along the surface of her nightstand, scattering pens and pencils, until she manages to find her phone, unplug it, and thumb at the _accept call_ button.

“Someone’s a little excited,” she mumbles, burying a smile into her pillow. 

“I got one hour of sleep last night. Maybe. If you count dozing off in front of my laptop as sleeping,” Simon answers and, despite the early hour and his apparent lack of sleep, he sounds so wide awake that Clary feels more energized just from listening to his voice. “But that’s not why I’m calling, actually. Have you looked outside?” 

“I literally haven’t gotten out of bed yet,” Clary answers, slowly opening her eyes and rolling towards the edge of the bed. Her curtains are pulled shut, blocking out the outside world, and she carefully crosses the room, hoping that she doesn’t step on a paintbrush or pencil. “Please tell me that you’re not standing outside with a boombox over your head.”

“Definitely not.” There’s not even a hint of a laugh in his voice, which sets alarms off in Clary’s mind; Simon is _always_ amused by her movie references. Kicking aside a pair of shoes, she wraps her fingers around her curtain and tugs it to the side. 

Immediately, she sees why Simon isn’t laughing. 

“Oh,” she says, wiping away the condensation that’s gathered on the window. “Crap.” 

“Exactly.” 

When she’d gone to bed last night, the ground had been mostly clear of snow, aside from gray, dingy bits that had been clinging to the walls of the alleys, where the sun didn’t reach. 

Now, it looks like the entire world has been swallowed up by it. 

Huge, fluffy mounds cover every square inch of the courtyard that her window looks out onto, and it’s drifted up the sides of her mom’s car, nearly reaching the windows. When the wind picks up, rattling the branches of the skeletal trees dotting the courtyard, miniature tornadoes of snow form, and it becomes difficult to see more than a few inches out the window. 

“Was that in the forecast?” she asks, tugging the curtain closed again and rubbing at her eyes, which are still crusted with sleep. 

“We were supposed to get a little bit,” Simon answers. “But nothing like this.”

“Damn,” Clary mutters, grabbing a sweater from her chair and padding out of her room. 

Of all the days for New York to get a freak snowstorm, it just has to be the day that her and Simon are supposed to move in together. 

“Should we just wait until tomorrow?” Simon continues. “The roads should be clear by then.” 

“I’ll ask Luke. Call you back?” 

“Okay. Love you, Fray.” 

“Love you too,” Clary says, smiling as she hangs up, even though she can see the snow blowing through the huge kitchen windows. Luke and her mom are both awake, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the television. When Clary steps further into the room, Luke jumps to his feet, beaming from ear to ear. 

“You ready to leave the nest?” he asks, which makes Clary’s mom roll her eyes.

“About that,” Clary answers, pointing towards the window. Luke glances outside only briefly before he shrugs. 

“I’ve driven in worse. Besides, I’ve already got the moving truck loaded up, and I’m supposed to return it tomorrow morning.” Clary glances toward the living room, which was full of cardboard boxes and pieces of furniture when she went off to bed, and finds it almost entirely empty. 

Apparently, Simon isn’t the only one who didn’t get a lot of sleep. 

“Simon’s having a mild panic attack about it,” she says, grabbing a travel mug from the cupboard so that she can fill it up with coffee for the trip.

“When _isn’t_ Simon having a mild panic attack?” her mom replies, smiling softly enough to indicate that it’s a joke. 

“You’d think that he’d trust me more by now,” Luke says with a slight frown. “He’s only known me his entire life.” 

Clary shrugs as she heads back towards her bedroom, hitting the redial button on her phone so that she can tell Simon that the move is still on. 

If anyone can get them safely across the city, it’s Luke. Besides, while waiting one more day to move in with Simon certainly wouldn’t be the end of the world, she’s been awaiting this exact day for three months. 

She’s not going to let a little bit of snow ruin it.

&.

‘Little bit of snow’ is, perhaps, one of the greatest understatements she’s made in her entire life.

When she steps outside, carrying an overflowing tote bag of clothes and art supplies in each hand, she has to literally follow in Luke’s footsteps in order to keep her feet (mostly) dry. The snow bordering the path that Luke has managed to carve out is up to her knees, and more is still floating down from the sky, and there’s no sign of it stopping anytime soon. 

“Are you sure that this is okay to drive in?” she asks as Luke unlocks and pushes open the huge loading door of the moving truck so she can throw her bags inside. She’s trying not to worry, but thinking about how terrible the roads must be still makes her stomach churn with nerves.

She blames it on Simon. She’s starting to pick up his bad habits although, after fourteen years of being best friends and two years of dating, it was bound to happen eventually.

Luke, for his part, doesn’t look the least bit concerned. 

“It’s fine,” he answers, pulling the door closed again and locking it. “Should still be better than driving around Midtown on New Year’s Eve.” 

Clary shudders at that thought as she hops into the passenger seat of the truck. Luke has some pretty awesome stories and has done some things that Clary is truly envious of, but that’s one experience he can definitely keep for himself. 

The truck starts as soon as Luke twists the keys in the ignition, and as they slowly roll out of the courtyard, snow crunching under the tires, Clary rolls down the window and waves back at her mother, who is standing in the doorway. The extra pair of hands would have been nice, but the moving truck only fits three people, so both her and Simon’s mom are staying behind. 

Luke carefully turns out onto the street. There’s no other traffic, and the sidewalks are mostly empty of pedestrians; the ones who are walking by are bundled up so tightly that Clary can just see their eyes and noses. The road hasn’t been plowed yet, but there are two furrows where passing traffic has carved through the snow that Luke steers the truck into. 

“See?” he says, leaning back in his seat, one hand loosely wrapped around the steering wheel. “It’s really not that bad.” 

By the time they’ve gone three more blocks, he’s gripping the wheel with both hands. 

There’s less snow on the streets here, but the asphalt is slippery, and every so often, Clary feels the wheels lose traction, and they slide slightly before Luke manages to straighten them back out. Traffic is heavier, and the taxi drivers are up to their usual habits, darting through intersections, cutting them off at every opportunity. Luke doesn’t honk the horn at them or flip them off, but Clary can see that it’s getting to him. 

“Do you mind if I take a break to fine some of these guys for dangerous driving?” he asks after yet another taxi cuts in front of them. 

“I don’t mind,” Clary says with a shrug as she sends Simon a status update text. “Simon, on the other hand...” 

“After all the things I’ve done for him,” Luke says with a mock disappointed sigh as he creeps through another intersection. “Fine. I’ll be nice to the taxi drivers. For today.” 

The drive to Simon’s place usually takes half an hour on a bad day, when traffic is at its heaviest, but over an hour passes before they finally pull into his driveway, back wheels sliding slightly. A path has been shoveled from the driveway to the front door, and before Luke has even turned the truck off, Simon comes outside with the most ridiculous hat hair Clary has ever seen, a huge cardboard box cradled in his arms. 

Once Luke has the loading door open and has headed off towards the house to start grabbing Simon’s things, Clary dives into Simon’s arms, hooks her fingers into the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a kiss. By the time they pull apart, she’s panting slightly, and Simon’s cheeks are flushed bright pink. 

“I’m so glad you’re finally here,” he says, bumping his nose against hers. “I figured that at any moment, I was going to get a text that said ‘we’re stuck’ or ‘we’re in the Hudson’.” 

“Simon, if we ended up in the Hudson, I would not be texting you,” Clary replies. “I would be too busy trying to save all my stuff.” 

“Ha. Very funny.” Clary rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss him again, but before their lips can touch, she’s interrupted by the sound of Luke’s voice. 

“For two people so eager to move in together, you don’t seem to be doing a lot of helping,” he says pointedly, although the smile gracing his face makes the remark a little less serious.

Clary has to admit, he does have a point. 

They spend the next half hour loading up all of Simon’s boxes and furniture. Clary is more than happy when the last item is in the truck, and not just because it means they’re one step closer to actually living together. Although the snow has slowed down, the path that Simon shoveled out quickly became covered, and Clary slipped no less than four times, although she always managed to catch herself before she actually hit the ground. 

As they pull away from Simon’s house, she can’t help but hope that their new superintendent already has the place shoveled. 

Thank god it isn’t a walk-up.

&.

The next part of the journey is the worst.

Their new apartment is thirty blocks from Simon’s place. Thankfully, the snow has tapered off, but the roads they have to travel are more heavily trafficked, and most of the snow has dissolved into brown slush, which splashes up onto their windows and windshield and makes it difficult for the truck to keep traction. Luke still maintains his cool, even when they’re fishtailing, but Clary’s heart (and stomach) feel like they’re sitting in her throat. 

Thankfully, she has Simon’s hand to squeeze when things cross the line between merely worrisome and actually terrifying. 

Eventually, after two agonizingly long hours, they turn onto the right street. It’s just as slushy as the rest of them, but there’s a spot in front of the building that they can slide into. 

Even better, the superintendent _has_ shoveled the sidewalk out front, and they’ve even laid down salt to boot. 

When she and Simon head on inside to talk to the superintendent while Luke starts unloading, they find him in the lobby, where he’s been keeping an elevator on hold for them. 

Clary officially decides that she never wants to move out of this place. 

While the sidewalk may be relatively clear, the lobby is still wet from so many people tromping through it, so they have to tread carefully. The elevator is decently sized, but it still takes them at least ten trips to get everything upstairs. Clary leaves that part to Luke and Simon; she goes on ahead into the apartment and starts moving boxes as they arrive, putting them into the appropriate rooms so that they’ll have less work to do later on. Most of the boxes are rather heavy, and the rattling radiator is _definitely_ working, so she ends up shrugging out of her sweater and boots within minutes.

All told, it’s a pretty nice apartment. There are lots of windows and, although most of them just look out onto another building across the street, it looks like they’ll bring in lots of sun, which will be nice for painting. The balcony is tiny but looks sturdy enough, and all of the lights and appliances seem to be in working order. The bedroom has two closets, and there’s plenty of counter space in the bathroom. 

She feels lucky not only to have _made_ it to the apartment, considering the weather, but also that it’s actually theirs. 

By the time they bring up the last load of furniture, which ends up just being shoved into a corner of the living room to be dealt with later, the sun has been down for two hours. Clary asks Luke if he wants to stay and eat with them, but he shakes his head and pulls her into a hug. 

“I should get home. Don’t want your mom to send a search party out after me.” 

“Pretty sure she’d just come find you herself,” Clary laughs. “Thank you for helping us today.” 

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger. If you don’t come have dinner with us at least once a week, I’ll come get you myself. That means you too, Simon.” 

“I wouldn’t miss dinner for the world,” Simon says, poking his head out of the bedroom. “You’re the best, Luke.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Luke grins and gives Clary another half-hug before he says goodbye, promising to let her know when he makes it home safely. She locks the door behind him before she heads into the bedroom, where Simon is just finishing up making the bed. As soon as he straightens out the duvet, Clary drops onto it, wriggling up the bed until her head is on the pillow. 

“God, I’m so glad we’re here,” she mumbles. Her back aches from moving things around, and she needs a shower desperately, but that just seems like too much work for the time being. The mattress dips beside her as Simon drops to the bed as well. 

“Me too.” His hand drops to her shoulder, and his fingers start tracing circles and lines along her skin on either side of the strap of her tank top. It’s incredibly soothing, and she shuffles closer, until she’s pressed against his side. 

For a long time, neither of them speak. His fingers keep whisking back and forth, and she simply enjoys the sensation, enjoys the softness of the mattress underneath her chest. 

By the time Simon talks, she’s nearly drifted off. 

“Holy crap.” 

“What?” she asks, opening her eyes and propping herself up on her elbows. “Is it snowing again?” She glances towards the window, but there’s nothing on the other side except dark sky tinted orange by the streetlights below, not a snowflake in sight. 

“No,” Simon laughs. When she looks at him, he’s absolutely beaming from ear to ear, so happy and handsome that the urge to photograph or paint him is nearly impossible to resist. “It just hit me. We actually _live_ together. Like, you and me. Together. In this apartment. No parents. Just us.” 

Just like that, it hits Clary as well. Obviously, she knew that they were moving in together, but it’s one thing to know it and another thing entirely to actually feel it, and the day has been way too hectic for her to actually feel it. Now that the chaos has finally come to an end, it’s actually started to sink it. 

She actually _lives_ with Simon. 

“We do,” she says, unable to bite back laughter. “We really, really do.” 

“What if this ends up being the catalyst for you realizing that you hate me?” Simon continues, although the fact that he’s laughing just as hard as her seems to indicate that he’s only being half-serious at most. “What if you wake up tomorrow and are like, ‘oh god this was a mistake, this guy is the worst’?” 

“I already know you’re the worst,” she answers, laughing even harder when he gasps and slaps his hand to his heart in offense. Taking his hand, she moves over until she’s straddling his hips, and she brings his knuckles to her mouth in a quick kiss. “I promise that I don’t hate you today, and I’m not going to hate you tomorrow. Or the day after that.” 

“What about the day after _that_?” he asks, grinning as he sits up and drops one hand to the small of her back.

“That’s up for debate,” she answers with a shrug as she leans down and meets him in a lingering kiss. His fingers slide underneath the back of her shirt to rest against her bare skin, and she gasps softly as she releases his hand and threads her fingers into his mussed-up hair. 

When she pulls apart to breathe, there’s a sparkle in his eyes that she recognizes all too well. At any other time, she would immediately dive back in, but at the moment, she unfortunately has more pressing issues to deal with. 

Namely, the fact that her stomach is rumbling loudly. 

“I have an idea,” she murmurs, dropping her forehead to rest against his and tugging his hair lightly. “How about we find someplace around here that does takeout, and when we’re done eating, we can resume this?” 

“I’ll consider it,” Simon answers with a grin, thumbing at her hip. “But only if we can go buy some cookie dough tomorrow. I’m craving chocolate chip, and we should probably test out how well that oven works before we try to make _actual_ food.” 

“Deal.” Clary leans back down for one more kiss. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” Simon murmurs, his teeth just barely skimming against Clary’s lower lip as he pulls back. “Now let’s find food before your stomach eats itself.” 

Clary lightly slaps him in the arm as she rolls off of him. 

It may be too early to tell, but she has a feeling that, even though actually getting to the apartment was difficult, living with Simon is going to be anything but.


End file.
